


Call Me, Maybe

by orphan_account



Series: What We Do In The Semidarkness [1]
Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Crack, Drabble, F/M, Familiar Mallory, Humor, Vampire Michael, What We Do In The Shadows AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 18:17:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20214163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mallory just wants to enjoy the rest of her day off.





	Call Me, Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> The plot and characters of American Horror Story: Apocalypse belong to Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own.

It’s a conspiracy to drive her crazy, is what it is. The phone ringing after she’d just managed to drift off.

Mallory huffs and pokes a hand out of the blankets to feel around her nightstand for the slim metal rectangle. She opens one eye to peek at the call display before answering.

Of course.

“What do you want, Michael? It’s my day off,” she growls.

“Hence why I’m calling now and not twelve hours ago,” he drawls. “Honestly, Mallory you really are as rude and unintelligent as Coco claims.”

Mallory’s in no mood for his barbs. “If I’m so incompetent, why don’t you just get rid of me?”

Michael scoffs like she’d suggested they elope to France. “Nonsense, you’re my familiar. I won you in that game of Kitten Poker fair and square.”

“What. Do. You. Want.” she grits, eyes tightly shut lest they shield her from the full force of her master’s bullshit.

“This is a matter of utmost importance, Mallory…Should I wear the crimson or the cerise cravat to the council meeting on Monday?”

“Are you kidding me right now?” she squawks.

The line is silent.

“MICHAEL IT IS TWO THIRTY IN THE MORNING. AND THOSE ARE THE EXACT SAME COLOURS!”

He hums. “I suppose I could agree that they are rather similar. If,” he adds derisively, “I were a blind vagrant with no concept of pride or luxury.”

She can’t—

“Michael, I’m hanging up now. Ask Gallant or Madison for help with your fashion crisis.”

She imagines his handsome face twisted with an incredulous frown. The man’s not used to being told no. Mead, his former familiar, let him get away with too much before she died.

“Listen here Mouse, I don’t pay you for your insolence—”

She speaks over him, “Michael, you don’t pay me at all. And no, the pleasure of your company does not count as payment.”

“Maaaalllllorrrryyyyy,” he whines, “I value your opinion more than Gallant or Madison’s. They’ve been so judgemental since the incident with the leather pants.”

She doesn’t want to know. “That was before my tenure, and if you value me as a mildly fascinating object in your periphery you will never tell me the story behind that statement.”

“Lestat started it. It’s not my fault—”

“NEVER,” she spits.

Michael falls silent.

Sighing, Mallory continues, “wear the crimson one and don’t call me again. Goodnight, Michael.”

“Goodnight, Mouse,” he purrs. “Dream of my excellent bone structure. I know I’ll be thinking about your—”

Mallory stabs the end call button viscously.

Rolling over, she snuggles into the cool cotton of her pillowcase. She’s unconscious for a total of three seconds before her ringtone blares throughout the room.

“MOTHERFUCKER!”

The phone makes a satisfying sound when it shatters against the wall.


End file.
